𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, young royals

13: The Society

13: The Society

The next morning, kneading my thumbs into Simon's beanie, I tried to recall how it'd winded up in my possession, but there was nothing. Maybe I'd accidentally left August's party with it, but I couldn't remember him ever taking it off around me.

It brought me a bit of comfort to hold it. It smelled like him and how I imagined his house smelled. Like homemade spaghetti sauce and burning candles and cheap detergent. It was something foreign to me because I'd never known what a real home could smell like.

A knock sounded at my door.

I turned off my music and stowed Simon's beanie under my pillow just as my door swung open, and August pranced in.

"Hey," greeted my cousin calmly, shutting the door behind him.

He must had been heading to the gym because he was wearing all-black sportswear and had a water bottle slid under his armpit.

I sat upright on my mattress.

"Hi," I replied.

"How's that leg doing today?" he asked, marching over to my bedside, "any better?"

"Yeah," I said flatly and glanced at his attire. "Since when is there practice on wednesdays?"

August shrugged indolently.

"There isn't. I thought I'd hit the gym before class—you know, to stay clear-headed throughout the day," he boasted, plopping down next to my knees on the bed. He shot me a coaxing smile. "Which brings me to ask: have you got any updates on when you'll be able to start rowing again?"

Reluctantly, I cleared my throat and said, "I'm not sure."

You could say rowing wasn't what I'd been most excited to get back into. Sure, it was nice sometimes, but August made it painfully laborious with his desperate need for victory, and I wasn't looking too forward to getting chastised by my cousin three times a week for my "laziness" or "lack of interest."

"Well, look into it and tell me, won't you?" suggested August, nudging my arm. "Team misses you, y'know? And I'm sure Erik wouldn't have wanted for you to sulk in your room all year."

At that, I stiffened and felt my insides crisp.

"Don't mention him," I snapped before I could catch myself.

August started a little at my precipitous response. He held my gaze falteringly before retracting and nodding his head contritely.

"Sorry," he apologized, "I was just trying to cheer you up. I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."

I said nothing in response, irritated and a little ashamed with my sudden outburst, and my cousin swallowed. I heaved my legs to my chest and wrapped my palms around my knee caps. August paused and glanced away from me, fiddling with folds in my bedsheets. The silence felt too important to break. I thought he'd get up and leave after a while, but he just stared out my window soberly, his knees bouncing up and down nervously.

"You know, when my dad... died, I thought I'd never do anything again but sit in my room and mope," confessed August suddenly and with a faint reluctance. "I felt trapped, and I thought my life was over. Until I started moving again. Rowing, running, weight-lifting—anything. And then I couldn't stop because it was the only thing that emancipated me," he continued, his woeful gaze falling into his lap momentarily before moving back at me. "Sorry. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I get it. And you can be free of your burden, too, Wille."

A part of me wanted to snap and tell him that he didn't get it—no one did. But I held my silence. I wasn't in the position to tell him he didn't get it. And maybe he did understand bits of it, but we were too different to mend into one.  We'd never wholly understand each other.